


Trials of War

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Field Hospital, Fluff, German soldiers, M/M, Medical Procedures, Pre-Ekon Jonathan, Religious items, War, doctors and nurses, pacifist Jonathan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Christmas, 1917Dr. Jonathan Emmet Reid is the last stance against the perils of the war, as both a severe snow storm and German advances threaten the Field Hospital he oversees. His choices will decide their fate and if he'll live to see another Christmas again.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	Trials of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [illgetmyspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illgetmyspade/gifts).



> This was a writing prompt request from illgetmyspade and a few others in the Pembroke Hospital discord server. It was a lot of fun to write but I had hoped to have it out and up by the end of Christmas day. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless.

“The orders were to evacuate the hospital!” his colleague pleaded as Jonathan fought to stabilize yet another wounded soldier brought in from the front. The Germans were approaching and the last three trucks were filled to the brim with wounded and hospital staff. Those able to walk helped carry their comrades in arms, lifting them up into the covered beds of the vehicles, handing off crates of medicine and bandages as quickly as they could but there was still so much left behind. Too many men to prepare for transport and a sparse few that couldn’t risk being moved at all.

They were understaffed and had far too few vehicles with the snow that had moved in over the last few nights. The roads drifted shut and their resources were all but cut off. The Germans had been closing in, inching their way in on their borders of control but their luck didn’t fare any better than their own. The storm that blew through the last night had shut many of the roads down completely, the trucks had trouble starting in the cold let alone navigating the deeper drifts that washed over like an angry ocean wave frothing and frozen.

He looked around worriedly, examining those still lying on cots that couldn’t be moved and they lacked the man power at the moment to aid him. Most of the staff had already gone ahead with the rest and the soldiers that had been protecting the hospital had ridden alongside them to defend the convoy. Aside from himself, there was one other doctor, a nurse and three armed soldiers in waiting. Half a dozen wounded were lying unresponsive or recovering from surgeries he performed just this morning. 

“The enemy is almost here!” the other doctor blurted, eyes wide with fear as he glanced over their shoulders past the handful of military green tents with their bright white medical flags whipping in the wintry wind, marking them as a field hospital. It would have been hard to spot with all the snow camouflaging them from a distance if it wasn’t for the large red emblems painted across the banners. “Jonny!”

“A moment more-” He grunted, ignoring the warm blood that stained his cold hands as he made the last few stitches, securing it at the end. “There.” He quickly wrapped the injury with a bandage, hands working efficiently with years of skill and practice behind nimble fingers.

The other doctor startled at the sound of engines approaching their little encampment. “What are we going to do Jonny?” Jonathan’s gaze fixed on the makeshift dirt road that led to their camp, carved by the convoys of soldiers that had passed through and the ambulances that had carted them back and forth by the dozens. It was a mess of mud and a slurry of snow slush and ice that threatened to bury tires and boots that dared tread along it.

“This is  _ my  _ hospital.” He said firmly. “I will not be bullied out of it.” He reached to his hip where his gun was holstered, drawing it to check the ammunition quickly before rising to his feet. “Stay with the men.” He ordered, looking back at his colleague.

“Are you mad? Jonny!” The doctor stepped forward to stop him but Jonathan turned firmly to face his colleague.

“That is an order.” Jonathan reaffirmed, watching his friend recoil fitfully. He didn’t like pulling rank, the staff he worked with were hard working and dedicated to their jobs. They had become close friends in the short months he’s had the honor of serving with them but he refused to put them in the path of further harm.

The three soldiers that remained behind to guard them were anxious, rifles at the ready as they prepared to defend the remaining hospital occupants. Jonathan stepped up to join their ranks, eyeing them over thoughtfully. One he had fixed up after a dislocated shoulder a month back. He was pleased to see it hadn’t caused any lasting effects as he held his gun steady. Another had scars puckering the curve of his jaw where a bayonet had slashed him in close quarters combat. Jonathan had worked feverishly to stem the bleeding and stitch the wound up which was dangerously close to the carotid artery. The enemy that inflicted the wound had been going for a killing blow but the soldier had been either fast enough or lucky enough to avoid the direct strike.

The crunch of snow beneath his boots steeled him to the quiet that settled over the morning. The snap of the medical banners in the wind was a startling edge to his nerves. The cold air sneaking under his collar and nipping at the back of his neck, making him curse his lack of a jacket. His thoughts settled on the fight to come. Will they die here? Or be captured? Tortured? There were so many thoughts racing across his mind as his courage twisted towards the fears that spurred in his stomach from the unknown. He gripped the handle of his gun more firmly in hand, steeling himself with the reminder that whatever happened now, he wouldn’t go out a coward. This was  _ his hospital  _ damn it and as the head of it, he would do everything in his power to save these men.

The German truck slowed in its approach, a crawling pace as the men readied their weapons, prepared to open fire. Jonathan squinted against the snow flurries stirred up by an errant wind. “Hold your fire!” He called to the three at his side. They stopped and chanced a stare at him. He holstered his own handgun and stepped forward, entering their line of fire to ensure neither of them got twitchy fingers. He hadn’t noticed it at first due to the snow but he could see it now. It was a lone vehicle, battered and riddled with holes where gunfire had rained upon it. The tarp on the back was barely holding on, patched up repeatedly and looking worse for wear. Hanging out the back of it was a soldier, clinging to the tail bed as he raised a dingy white strip of cloth, stained on the edges with bits of blood and grime, but it was a white flag no less.

“Stand down!” He ordered quickly, eyes widening at this turn of events. What they had anticipated to be a German attack had turned out to be a single truck, one that was barely puttering along the muddy road, navigating the slush and snow that made the tires slip and slide dangerously even at the slow pace.

Jonathan held his hands out on either side of him, a show of acceptance towards their white flag. He heard the mumbled words of the soldiers and the frightened questioning of one of the nurses, confusion twisting in their words. Jonathan wasn’t sure what was happening but he had a gut feeling and he hoped to God he wasn’t wrong. The truck rolled to a stop, giving a last sickly putter as if the engine gave out altogether, whether the driver wanted it to or not. The steam rolling out of the front where snow melted and cold air met the hot engine, tinged with smoke in the output. The engine sputtered one final pitiful time before going dead. The shadow of the driver looked to be at wits ends as he swatted the steering wheel angrily in the cab.

The man clinging to the back of the truck stepped down with a weak stumble, catching himself as he corrected his balance. One leg was positioned oddly, taking less weight as he stepped towards the front of the truck to meet Jonathan. 

He halted halfway to the vehicle, waiting for the German soldier to meet him, flag in hand as he limped along.

The soldier was a young man, mid twenties maybe. His eyes were darkened by bruises from sleeplessness and the healing yellow tinge of injury. His jaw was puffy on one side, cheeks bright red from the cold air that whipped at his face. His hair was frozen stiff at the edges where it peeked out from beneath his cap. Jonathan was relieved to see the man was unarmed. His holster on his hip was empty even. He stumbled on the ice when he neared Jonathan, the doctor lunging forward to catch him out of reflex, offering an arm for him to correct his stance. He cursed himself for acting impulsively, knowing it was a good way to get shot but the other man didn’t seem concerned by the offered assistance as he straightened up. He gripped onto Jonathan’s sleeve, blood stained hands curled desperately into the fabric as he pleaded with broken English.

“Help….us...p-please. Help,” he gestured back towards the truck, his lips forming what little English he could in simple bursts. “Truce.” He held up the white flag, showing it to Jonathan, pleading to him. “Truce  _ bitte. _ ”

Jonathan didn’t know what to make of it. This wasn’t covered under protocol and training but he nodded quickly, accepting the white flag in hand as he gestured towards the truck. The soldier nodded, giving a shaky breath as he tried to limp more quickly back around. Jonathan followed, one hand ready to catch the soldier should he fall again but he needn’t have worried. The man moved closer towards the truck and used it for balance as he shuffled around the tail bed. Jonathan gazed inside the darkened space to find four men huddled together on the benches, all in varying states of injury, and one man lying on the floor of the truck, bandages and cloth wrapped haphazardly over his midsection where blood continued to seep through.

“ _ Mein bruder _ -” the soldier at his side blurted, reaching out to gently grip the man’s leg that was lying on the floor. “Help. Please.”

Well, that was good enough for him. He turned towards the soldier and nodded, walking briskly around the side of the truck as he waved back towards the soldiers in waiting. “I need a hand over here!” he called, watching them lower their weapons and look hesitantly at one another. After a moment, they acted and quickly approached. The other doctor and nurse followed when they heard Jonathan’s voice. The Germans started to move as well, beginning to unload out of the truck. The man most severely wounded was carried on a stretcher back to one of the tents. Jonathan followed briskly while his colleague began dividing up the men that needed treatment first and those who could wait as they were unloaded.

Jonathan directed the soldiers towards an open operating table, transferring the injured German onto it with a careful lift, counted out in haste. The nurse set to work, quickly gathering supplies as Jonathan addressed the severity of the wound. He gently peeled back the fabric that was clotting up the entrance of the injury, observing as blood gurgled back up at the agitation, large clots congealing against the fabric like a flesh cap to the wound. He stepped away to start gathering the necessary tools, rushing around as he barked out orders. His colleague joined him quickly in a proper surgical gown, allowing them only enough time to scrub their hands clean before starting. 

The German soldier he had spoken to earlier hovered in the doorway, anxious eyes observing the doctors as they worked. A curt command from an English soldier sympathetically ushered him back to the rest of the waiting men. There the ragtag group attempted to address the most basic of wounds, cleaning them carefully with wet rags and offering water to the weary men, and blankets were handed out to keep out the dreaded chill sneaking in through the flaps of the tents.

In the surgical tent, Jonathan worked furiously to save the soldier’s life. The nurse administered morphine into a drip line to calm his screams of pain. She rushed about, handing over tools, emptying basins of blood and removing the soaked rags and bandages that had already been used to stem the flow. Jonathan’s fingers were tingly, warming in the blood of the soldier from their numbed state from the winter cold outside. The bitter nip that ghosted through the tent was barely acknowledged by the staff as his colleague suctioned out the blood from the injury site by hand, depositing it into the metal disposal basin. More soaked rags were added to the growing pile. Torn flesh and sinew were speckled with debris and the beginning signs of a potential infection. Pieces of cloth were embedded into the wounds where the bullet was lodged, it broke into smaller pieces dispersing in a tight cluster.

Piece by piece, quiet tink after quiet tink, Jonathan extracted the shrapnel and dropped it into the basin. Pebbles and dirt had accumulated from wherever the man had been lying. He wiped the space clean, extracted clots that had gathered, cold and gelatinous, dark shadows obscuring his view of the damage. Minutes dragged on to hours. The cold was an afterthought against his back as sweat beaded his brow. His fingers ached as he maneuvered the instruments, suturing flesh together, stitching and cleaning, clearing away debris and more blood, then stitching more. Three different locations, he repeated this until he had the man’s belly closed back up. Small lacerations were present, older than the bullets but equally as at risk for infection. He treated those wounds, drained them of puss and cleansed them, suturing them back up with clean organized stitches.

By the time they were finished, it was evening. The soldier was stabilized for the time being, under a morphine induced sleep as he recovered but Jonathan’s work was far from finished. He scrubbed up, letting the nurse handle the equipment while he moved to the next tent, addressing the next cluster of injuries. He dismissed his colleague to tend to their other patients, doing the majority of the rounds in his absence. Jonathan reset dislocated shoulders, splinted broken bones and cleaned wounds. He stitched injuries, drained infections and offered medicine, all the while navigating the language barrier. One of the English soldiers that had stayed behind, the youngest and more anxious of the trio, was a red head from Dublin who had a small knowledge of German. He translated the best he could in his thickly accented dialect, hands moving to accompany his explanations with gestures. 

The German soldiers were apprehensive at first but as Jonathan worked one at a time, they watched with mixed feelings of fascination and surprise. He was polite and sympathetic, he spoke clearly and concisely to them all. There was no anger or malice in his tone or his touch as he carefully angled them, guiding them into optimal positions to be treated and supported them when they struggled. He spoke softly, in hushed tones as he calmed one soldier who was completely blinded by injury, eyes bandaged and hearing concussed from an explosion that happened a little too close for safety. Jonathan was patient with each of them, taking his time as he handled their problems until everyone was stable and settled in. It was long past dusk and another storm was brewing on the horizon. They had a long night ahead of them.

The soldiers dispersed around the camp, taking turns watching over the wounded on both sides. The nurse settled in to check on their own men, the doctor watched over the injured Germans and Jonathan spent the night sitting by the severely wounded soldier’s bedside. The surgery was a success but his condition was still up in the air. If he survived the night, then the outlook was good. If not, then he didn’t really know what to do.

He shifted in the chair set beside the man’s bed, folding his arms over his chest as he shivered. He managed to snag his jacket in his downtime, the medical emblem was prominent on his right arm, the green fabric was worn out and the red cross insignia was faded and tattered. The thicker white coat barely held off the chill but their remaining blankets were handed out to the patients. The rest had been packed up with the trucks and headed to the next base. Along with the rest of his staff, manpower and medicine. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled deeply, eyes slipping shut as he sighed. Weariness was creeping in but he was too restless to submit. His thoughts bounced from one end of the tent to the other with a million questions of _what_ _if_ s. Did he do the right thing? Would they last out here as they are? They have so few supplies left and the coming storm was a risk that could cut them off for good. Help wouldn’t be able to reach them for days, possibly even weeks if they weren’t already written off as dead. 

Jonathan sighed heavily, giving a small shake of his head as he fumbled to stay awake. His attention shifted with bleary eyes back onto the sleeping soldier. His condition was stable but Jonathan was still worried. Infection was a high risk in these conditions and they lacked the supplies to hold it off. If the bitter winter cold didn’t secure it.

His attention tore away to fix on the flap of the tent as it peeled back. The familiar head of the young German soldier peered in, his body weight shifting to accommodate his injured leg. Earlier when he was tending to the men, Jonathan had inquired about the injury but discovered it was actually several months old. Beyond help at this point but whatever patch job done up for it was just enough to get him back in working form to be sent out and shot at some more. It was a frustrating thought to Jonathan, but then again this entire war was frustrating to witness. They struggle and claw for some ground, fight to save lives only for those same men to be put right back out in the firing line and end up right back in the tents or in a forgotten grave somewhere.

He mustered a small smile of greeting and gestured for the young man to enter. He rose from his seat, offering the spot for the young man to rest in but he politely declined with a small shake of his head and a tired smile. Instead, Jonathan watched him turn towards the bed, features softening momentarily before shifting to a grim expression as they landed on the pitiful state of his brother. The bandages were thickly wrapped over his abdomen and stomach with blankets laid heavily over him until they were tucked neatly under his chin. It was all he could do to keep the cold away.

“Herr Doktor,” the German spoke up, turning to look back at Jonathan as he gently laid a hand on his brother’s face, caressing the soft patches of gauze that covered an open laceration across his cheek. His thumb rubbed tenderly over the spot, eyes dewy with the hints of emotion. “Ich danke Ihnen.”

Jonathan raised a brow, uncertain of what exactly the man said. He picked up a couple familiar syllables but he was too tired to recall the context in which he’s heard them before. The tone was sincere, with a gentle nod of the head and the smallest tilt of a strained smile.

"I did all I could to help him." Jonathan offered the soft spoken explanation, shifting his attention to the soldier with a quiet sigh. He folded his hands in front of himself and breathed into his palms, trying to thaw his chilled fingers as he rubbed and massaged the digits. The temperature was dropping quickly as the storm rolled in. The harsh snap of the tent fabric was a morbid reminder of their troubles to come over the next few days. He didn't look fondly over their struggles and even less on the fact they'd eventually be forgotten as casualties in the war effort. Another camp overrun too quickly by German advances, another lost cause to be cut off.

His shoulders slumped as he bowed his head, scrubbing his palms over his face with a heavy silence settling over him. "I wish there was more I could do." he admitted after a few heavy heartbeats.

His gaze pulled lazily towards the hand that fell on his shoulders. An outstretched arm that squeezed in gentle reassurance. The quiet features of the soldier looked far older in the low light of the tent, with long shadows stretching out across his face and accentuating the dips and curves of stress like valleys of bitter tension. "You...saved us." He spoke carefully, working the unfamiliar syllables out in measured bursts.

"I tried." He gave a small tilt of his head, a dismissive shake as he focused on the soldier lying before him.

There was a sympathetic smile that pulled on his lips, thinned and cracked by the chilly winter wind and poor conditions. He spoke gently, giving a nod towards the chair with his head. "Ruhen Sie sich ein wenig aus." When he was met with a quizzical look from Jonathan, the soldier sighed.

"Sleep." He reaffirmed, gently pushing Jonathan towards the chair. A protest rose to his lips but the hard unwavering look in the young man's eyes reminded him so much of the doting stubbornness of Mary. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he gave in and scrubbed a palm over his face, lowering himself back into the chair. He was certain if something was wrong, the soldier would wake him. A couple small hours couldn't hurt.

A couple small hours turned into several as the night wore on and Jonathan’s pent up weariness cascaded over him in crashing waves, sweeping him away. The sun was already up when he roused from his stiff position, groaning as the chill slithered deep into his bones and made his body protest every movement. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes, working out the blear that obscured his vision as he settled his gaze on the bed. Both soldiers were asleep, the younger brother was curled up on the floor beside the bed, turned halfway so he was bracing against the edge of the cot with his head tucked into the bend of his arm. His fingers were burrowed under the blanket, wound tightly around his brother’s hand as he clung to him through the night.

Jonathan rose from his seat with a stifled groan, feeling the stiffness deep in his bones as he stretched, pulling tight spasms of muscles in his back and legs. He massaged the crick in his neck as he slowly made his way out of the tent, bracing against the cold wind that nipped at his face, leaving red flushes of agitation against his skin. Two of the soldiers were huddled around a campfire, attempting to make breakfast for themselves. Most of the other patients and what remained of the staff had doled out rations of warm tea, broth and what barely could be considered coffee in his opinion. He crossed his arms over his chest and accepted a mug from one of the men, letting it warm his hands as he sipped at the bitter brew. He’d kill for some sugar or milk to add to it, but he didn’t have a right to complain given they were lucky that they had anything left at all. He finished his drink in a few long drafts, letting the heat of the drink pool into his stomach and provide a buffer of warmth to get him through the morning.

He did a quick sweep of the camp as one of the soldiers brought him up to speed on what all had been accomplished by the others already. The German soldiers that were able to help had pitched in to aid his colleagues with tending to the other patients. Even informing him that one of the German’s, a large man with a jagged scar across his face where barbed wiring had caught him earlier on in the war, had taken up a shovel with one other and helped them clear the snow away from the tents, taking turns in hourly rotations to defend the camp against the weather’s advances.

Jonathan could hear the sounds of the shovels grating against the ground somewhere further into the camp as they worked. He thanked the soldiers for the coffee and headed off to check in on the men. He found the large German standing off to the side with the younger redhead, chatting idly as they spoke in the former’s native language. It was friendly and familiar while they worked, with the German offering a small amused smile every few minutes towards the redhead.

“Good morning.” Jonathan greeted politely, bowing his head to both as he stepped over the small hills and piles of accumulated slush that gathered from the tread path back and forth between the tents.

“Morning, Dr. Reid.” the young man replied, straightening up with a tired sigh, leaning against the handle of the shovel tucked under his hand. 

“Mind if I?” He gestured towards the shovel. “I think a bit of work will help me warm up better.” 

The soldier looked uncertain at first but relinquished the shovel to the older man, looking sheepish as he stood aside and let Jonathan take up his spot, helping the German clear away the dips in the paths. “Don’t mind me.” He added. “You two can continue your conversation. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Uh, yes. It’s alright.” The soldier shrugged, glancing back at the doctor who quirked a brow in confusion. The younger man was red faced and if Reid hadn’t known any better, he’d have assumed it was simply from the bitter cold. His lips tilted up into a small smile as he shrugged and continued working. His body protested the actions as he dipped and lifted the heavy weight of the snow, wet and compressed with every scoop. He turned and tossed a half full pile at the younger soldier, cocking a smile to break the awkward tension in the moment.

A curse filtered out under the soldier’s breath as he was hit with the pile against his chest, and his eyes widened in shock as Jonathan straightened up, leaning against the shovel with a shit eating grin on his face. Be it the tension or stress or even the outlandish situation they were faced with but some childish part of him broke through, reminded of the days spent lollygagging in the piles of snow with Mary when they were small and full of life. The soldier bent down and scooped up a quick handful of snow, packing it quickly as he tossed it at Jonathan. He ducked, stumbling back to avoid the attack. The German took the shot instead, painting his side white. They fell quiet as the man inspected the mess that was made on his uniform before scooping up his own large heap of snow and packing it expertly into his palms. Both Jonathan and the soldier fled out of the narrow space between the tents out into the more open field beside as a snowball fight ensued.

Be it their laughter or the raucous of mixed English and German being shouted back and forth, but two more soldiers joined them, one German and one of the old English men, swooping in to defend Jonathan’s honor as he was ganged up on. It quickly became a free for all where snowballs were shoved down the backs of uniforms, men were tackled into the piles and heaps, laughter and light hearted cursing echoed in the snow covered field and their clothes were a mess to show the evidence of their endeavors.

With warmed bodied and warmer hearts, the morale of the little group saw a significant rise as men of opposing sides offered helping hands and dusted each other off with smiles. Arms slung over shoulders as they made their way back to the heart of the camp, the staff stood by with looks of amusement, staring at Jonathan as he laughed and grinned, strung between the red headed soldier and the much larger German. They returned to their work a bit more relaxed and recharged, quickly clearing the remainder of the paths with little care for the bitter cold. The redhead fell into help, taking up the German’s shovel to aid Jonathan while he followed one of the others back towards their broken down truck. The residual cursing of frustration told him they were hard at work trying to revive the engine. The occasional sputter and raspy grinding broke the quiet afternoon.

When he finished with the snow, he returned to the camp and retrieved a bowl of broth and a mug of tea, returning to the previous tent to check on the siblings. He was pleased to see the younger brother was awake. He had maneuvered the chair to support himself better as he sat at his brother’s side. Their fingers wound together as he murmured softly, tender words that filtered fondly through the air. The small wavering breath pulled at Jonathan’s heart as he carefully peeled open the tent and entered. It reminded him of Mary, her kind words when he was deployed. The small tremble in her lip and the hitch in her breath as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lamented his absence, hiding her tears in the collar of his coat. His quiet promise as he kissed her forehead, reassuring her that he would return safe and sound.

It was a bittersweet reminder that he may have to break that sullen promise. His chest tightened as he sucked in a breath of cold air, exhaling quickly in a huffed out sigh before entering more completely.

“Pardon the intrusion, but I brought you something to eat.” he started, offering a polite smile as the soldier straightened up, rubbing a hand over his face before turning to meet Jonathan’s entrance. His eyes were red and puffy, bloodshot around the soft brown pools.

“Danke.” He said curtly, inspecting the mug and bowl in Jonathan’s hands before reaching out to accept them. “I….sorry.” He added, shrugging his shoulder awkwardly as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say to the doctor. 

“I can leave if you’d like a moment of privacy.”

“Nein.” The German shook his head slowly. “Stay. Mein Bruder-” He gestured at the sleeping soldier expectantly, giving a small nod towards his midsection where his injuries were. 

“Alright.” Jonathan affirmed in a show of understanding. He did need to change the dressings of the man’s wounds and check for signs of infection. He took a few minutes to gather his supplies, his back turned towards the soldier as he balanced the bowl in his lap and let the warmth of the mug thaw his hands. When he returned to the cot, the soldier had shifted his seat to give him more space to work in as silence fell back over them.

He pulled back the blankets to examine the bandages, peeling them back carefully as he inspected the stitches and cleaned around them. Call it a miracle, but there were no signs of infection. Jonathan had been prepared for the absolute worst as he inspected each wound and each time breathed a pleasant sigh. He worked to place fresh bandages over them and took the old ones out to be properly disposed of. He worked in the quiet as the soldier ate his meal and finished the drink, now watching with polite interest as Jonathan worked. Utilizing the moment as a teaching opportunity, pulling from his days lecturing at universities and conference halls, he started to explain what he was doing.

He showed the soldier what the clean healthy wounds looked like and the straight measured lines of the stitches. He showed him how to properly apply ointments and salves to weather afflicted areas and how to use warm oil to rub into frostbitten areas to warm them up and bring life back into the skin. The young soldier was interested in the explanations and considerate actions of the doctor as he showed him how to take care of his brother in the off chance that they would all survive this. By the end, he had the soldier helping him, standing by his side as he handed him tools or supplies. They washed their hands afterwards in a basin of luke warm water heated over the campfires outside and Jonathan tucked the blankets back around the sleeping soldier. He was just about to leave to do his rounds in the other tents when he heard a stifled groan from the patient.

The young soldier jumped to his feet and rushed to his brother’s side, taking his hand in his as they spoke in hushed tones. The reassuring sounds woven through the thick German words was enough to tell Jonathan the topic of discussion. He politely excused himself, returning to the campfire to warm himself before heading off for the other tents.

He was halfway through his rounds when he heard traded words of fluent German mingling with the stilted and choppier tone of their resident translator as they navigated the labyrinth of tents to find the good doctor. Jonathan raised a brow of concern when he spotted the younger brother entering. He straightened up from where he’d been bent over a table sorting what supplies they had left to last them till help arrives.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, addressing his question to the young German though the redhead translated for him.

The German shook his head and stepped closer to the doctor, reaching inside his breast pocket to withdraw a brass medallion on a small copper chain. It was heavy in hand, worn and dirty from being lugged through trenches and battlefields. There were specks of blood on it, crusted in creases that couldn’t be properly cleaned without a thin tool and scratched up in white streaks on the edges where something had glanced across the facade. Pressed into the brass was the imagery of St. Christopher. Jonathan was not a religious man but he’d seen enough soldiers pass through his hands clinging tightly to the patron saint, begging for safety and mercy, pleading to be delivered home. Be it back to their country of origin or to reach heaven, it varied from man to man.

“Ich möchte, dass Sie dies annehmen als Zeichen meiner Dankbarkeit - auch für meinen Bruder.” The soldier spoke thickly, holding the item out to Jonathan with respect. His expression was hopeful as he looked to the younger man to translate.

“He would like to give this to you as a gift. As thanks for helping them.” The soldier explained. 

“I appreciate the thought, it is awfully kind of you but I can’t accept something like this. This is important to you.” Jonathan held up a hand, pushing it back into the German’s hold. The soldier translated easily but frowned as the German refused to budge.

“Dr. Reid.” He spoke softly, stepping closer to Jonathan as he implored him on the German’s behalf. “He insists. There is no greater honor to a man than to show his gratitude to the one who saved him and his kin,” he informed. “A saintly item as tribute, that is a powerful token to give to someone.” He gave the doctor a gentle jab as he added. “Stop being so stubborn and accept it.”

Jonathan sighed heavily, inspected the fragile looking chain, old and worn as if it were an heirloom treasured and passed down through generations. It was something that made him itch with uncertainty, a reminder of the golden watch his Father had given him so long ago. A reassuring weight in his pocket, tucked close to his heart. He did not believe in most superstitions but that did not mean he wasn’t a sentimental man that valued the memories and the importance of such simple and humble items.

He held his hand out, letting the German lay the medal into his palm, cool against his skin as the young man folded his fingers around it. “Thank you. I shall cherish it.” he assured.

The German smiled, looking back towards the redhead expectantly as he spoke. “Erlauben Sie mir, für Sie zu beten?” 

“He would like to pray for you.” the soldier explained.

Jonathan cocked an incredulous brow but let it fall in a defeated nod. He might as well accept it as it was. If it eased the other’s conscience, then he was pleased to endure the ritual that it entailed. He dragged up a weary smile, settling warmth into his expression as he answered. “I would appreciate it.”

The soldier placed both of his hands on Jonathan’s as they stood and prayed. All three of them bowed their heads respectfully, eyes closed as the German lead the prayer. Jonathan felt out of sorts in this kind of environment, not really a man of God and it had been a long time since he last partook in the practice of prayer or even group prayer. Most prominently, it was over holiday meal times with family and friends, small gatherings that called for such honors and blessings. He did not seek such activities out himself but could respect the meaning behind it. The faith and belief, which at times was its own unique form of medicine for the mind and soul, even when the body failed to keep up.

When the prayer ended, Jonathan felt oddly serene, gazing on the pair of soldiers who smiled pleasantly at him with relief.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Reid. Reeeeiiiiidddd.” The thick Irish accent pulled at Jonathan’s thoughts, dragging the doctor back to reality. He blinked bleary blue eyes as he inspected his surroundings with idle interest, recalling what exactly he’d been in the middle of doing. The room was well lit and warm from the roaring fire place, a cozy little nook that housed the Priwen Leader as his private chambers. It was a rare occasion that the ekon would find himself in Geoffrey’s room but the heavy snow storm raging outside made it considerably problematic to do his usual rounds. Business at Pembroke had slowed with the bitter cold weather and the epidemic had reached its end a few months back.

He sighed, stretching his back and shoulders in the seat as he sat upright at Geoffrey’s desk. His fingers wound tightly around the heavy weight in his palm, brushing a thumb over the faded shape of a holy figure that once watched over the lives of men marching through hell. His attention flitted down to it, abandoning the tasks that were laid out across Geoffrey’s desk.

“Whatcha got there Jonathan?” he asked, leaning over the doctor’s shoulder as he inspected the open palm. “A medal? Wait- is that a St. Christopher’s medal?” He asked, placing a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder as he adjusted himself around the chair and leaned closer to snoop. It was the hunter’s most intriguing quality some days.

Jonathan rolled his eyes as he held it up so the hunter could see it better. “It is.”

“Didn’t think you were the religious type Reid. Thought you were a proud man of science.” He teased, reaching out carefully to take it from the ekon’s hand. He paused in his motions, a silent request of respect as Jonathan let the medal slip into Geoffrey’s palm.

“It was a gift given to me by a grateful German soldier.” He explained.

“Germans? How’d you end up with that lot?”

“Last Christmas I was running a field hospital that was threatened by the advance of German troops. It was in the middle of being evacuated when a bad snow storm cut us off and left us stranded and abandoned for several days. The group of Germans that we were warned about had moved right on by us but one small company had been separated and badly injured. They sought help from us during the storm and I treated their injuries under the agreement of a truce.”

“Damn, Reid. That’s pretty ballsy of you.” Geoffrey admitted, placing the medal back in the ekon’s hand as he moved back around to the front of his desk where he had been taking apart his weapons and putting them back together again after doing routine maintenance on them. It was Geoffrey’s way of taking a break from paperwork and an excuse to get away from his men for a little bit of peace and quiet.

“So what happened afterwards?” He settled onto the edge of his desk, partially sitting on it with one leg supporting him and the other bent at an angle to balance on his knee. It didn’t look that comfortable to Jonathan but he relented, brushing his fingers over the brass medal and outlining the dings and scratches that marred the craftsmanship.

“We were cut off from everything for three days. They managed to get their truck fixed enough to try catching up with the rest of their men and a small company had made their way through the snow to come retrieve the last of the patients and staff on our side. It was a miracle that nobody died but our rations and supplies were almost completely gone.” He sighed. “We managed to make it to the next outpost before the second storm rolled in.”

“Sounds like a rough way to celebrate Christmas.” Geoffrey blanched, inspecting the doctor’s far-away look and the shadows that fell over him as he gazed down at the medal with a sort of melancholy that was unbecoming for the usually optimistic man. “But that was then, this is now.” he added quickly, moving to stand up and straighten his back out with a proud feline stretch. Jonathan winced at the sound of bones popping in the guard’s shoulders as he flexed and twisted. It was an unpleasant noise but the view made up for it.

“Hm?”

“Come on Reid. You can’t be a sad little leech this Christmas. It’s a time to celebrate, Priwen style.” he crooned, reaching across the desk to grab the doctor by his wrists and pull him up to his feet. Jonathan paused to tuck the medal into his breast pocket, safely beside his father’s watch as he was forced to march across the room towards the door.

“Priwen’s form of celebration involves unholy amounts of alcohol and a series of increasingly questionable bad choices.” Jonathan mused, raising a brow at Geoffrey as he threw the door open and smiled mischievously at the doctor.

“Exactly. No time like the present and the alcohol makes you forget the shite parts.” he persuaded, pulling the doctor closer as if he were a puppeteer, navigating his arms to tangle around the ekon. Jonathan was startled at first as he was dragged into a chaste and teasing kiss, but the light-hearted purr that rumbled out of Geoffrey was enough to wipe the melancholy of the season off his face, albeit for a moment.

“What trouble are you seeking now, hunter?” Jonathan asked, snaking his arms around the guard’s hips to tuck him up tight.

“No trouble. Just tradition.” Geoffrey answered, giving a small tilt of his head up. Jonathan frowned, following the gesture as he spotted the green bushel of festive significance. “Just don’t touch it leech. The only thing allowed to mark you up tonight is me.”

“Is that a promise hunter?” His words pulled pleasantly in the air between them, dancing in his ears as he stole another kiss in return.

“Does it count as ruining a surprise if I say it’s part of your Christmas present?” Geoffrey asked, pulling away enough to nip at Jonathan’s jaw and press his mouth against the curve of his throat. His teeth glanced the pale skin, leaving soft red marks behind that quickly healed.

“I think I can manage, I’ve been told I am one hell of an actor before.”

“Hmmm, that you are. Careful Reid. I may have to request an encore from you.” he hummed, drawing away completely this time. “But first, I gotta make sure the rascals haven’t burnt the house down yet with dinner.”

Jonathan let out a hearty laugh as he trailed after him. The phantoms of a Christmas past fleeting in his mind as he looked forward to a Christmas he never thought he’d be alive to celebrate. And with the whole gaggle of Priwen to boot. How wonders and miracles never cease in this world. It would almost be enough to make a man, or an  _ ekon  _ believe.  _ Almost.  _


End file.
